


welcome to new york

by lavendrsblue



Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen, Past Relationship(s), Post-Clockwork Princess, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendrsblue/pseuds/lavendrsblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When World War II comes to Paris, Tessa and Magnus hop in a Portal to New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	welcome to new york

**Author's Note:**

> The first in a series of Infernal Devices drabbles, inspired by each of the songs on Taylor Swift's 1989. Also my first venture into the fandom! (Cross-posted to FF.)
> 
> Note: During WWII, the Plaza Hotel enforced a three-day maximum stay policy, but just...disregard that.

The smell is what hits Tessa first: the air clogs with automobile exhaust and coal smoke, just as heavy and humid now as it always was. The Portal had dropped her and Magnus in the shade of a quiet, tree-lined boulevard she recognizes instantly. They’re around the corner from the Plaza Hotel, where she and Nate used to sit on a bench under a tree and make up stories about what they would do if they lived there.

The bench isn’t there now.

Magnus had suggested they take a steamer to New York--just for the fun of it--but Tessa insisted on practicality. Now, she thinks, perhaps he had the right idea. She’s visited New York a few times since she first moved away, for Nephilim business and the like--always with Will. But Will is gone, Jem is across an ocean, Nate and Aunt Harriet even further; no one is left to take her hand and point out the pigeons flocking around an unlucky sweet-seller, or comment on how the skyline twists higher and higher every day, puncturing the sky till it bursts with muggy summer rain. Now there is Magnus, politely holding the bag she’d dropped upon exiting the Portal.

“Shall we go?” he asks after a pause long enough to allow Tessa to recollect herself.

“Yes.” There’s a fire hydrant where the lovely wrought-iron bench used to be, bright yellow paint chipping around the edges.

A pointed look. “May I remind you that I am holding literally all of our bags right now?”

“Oh! Of course. Forgive me.” She hurries to take her own bags, of which there aren’t many. The most fragile things are still in Magnus’ apartment in Paris, locked up safely until they summon them with magic once they settle into--wherever it is they’re going to be. (In a possibly inadvisable move, Tessa had allowed Magnus to arrange everything for their move to New York. She’d been busy dealing with the aftermath of the Lisbon incident--which involved a flock of rogue parrots, a parasol, and some angry Portuguese businessmen--three weeks earlier.)

So when they round the corner, coming upon the front entrance of the Plaza, and Magnus waves at a bellhop, she says, “Oh, no. Magnus, you did _not_.”

“Do what?” he asks as the bellhop dutifully jogs toward them with a cart. “I assure you, whatever it is, I probably did.”

Tessa sighs. “You could have given me a bit of warning.”

“And ruin the surprise? Tessa, darling, don’t be a wet blanket. Variety is the spice of life.” Magnus’ cat eyes glitter as they always have, even in the muggy Manhattan air.

She looks up at the exterior of the hotel, plush red awnings below smooth stone reaching high above the treetops of Central Park. “Well, I could’ve dressed more appropriately for the occasion, at least.”

“That’s the spirit.” He offers his arm with a flourish. “Miss Theresa Gray, may I present: your new home.”

The lobby takes her breath away, all marble columns and stained-glass ceilings. Potted palms gently wave from each corner. She’s been around the globe, visited half a dozen of the most famous world landmarks, seen things more beautiful than any mundane would ever lay eyes on--but there’s a part of her that’s still a little girl, eight years old, holding on to her brother’s hand as they peer in the windows, gaping at the people gliding in and out of the revolving glass doors. She stands in the center of the lobby as Magnus goes to the concierge, turning slowly on the spot. Her fingers itch for a camera or a Memory rune.

“Who do you think polishes all the marble?” she asks later, as they step into an elevator. Magnus raises an eyebrow.

“Your first time in the Plaza Hotel, and you ask about the janitors.” He sighs, melodramatic. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” she says. “It’s _everywhere_.”

But a few minutes later, when they arrive on the fifth floor, any thoughts of the Plaza’s overworked janitorial staff all but disappear. The windows of Tessa’s room overlook the green expanse of Central Park South, giving her a view of the Pond and a ways beyond. As she runs a hand over the elegant gray sofa cushions, an ache in her chest constricts her lungs. The last time she was here--with Will--he’d spent half an hour glaring at the Pond’s significant duck population, claiming they looked even more suspicious than British ones--despite the fact that his last duck-related incident had been at least ten years prior and a continent away.

Magnus’ words echo in her head as she looks around at the wood-paneled walls. _Your new home_. But the Plaza, with all its velvet and gold-plated splendor, is not home. Neither is New York, anymore. It’s unlikely to ever be again. Home is not a place, Tessa knows now. It is the Institute Christmas party, watching Charlotte open baby gifts; it is learning to throw a knife alongside Sophie and Cecily; it is watching James and Lucie chasing Church around the library, shouting about fleas. It is Jem, in the SIlent City, and it is Will, somewhere where she cannot follow.

A gentle knock on the door startles her out of her reverie. She opens the door to find Magnus in a bright green coat, hat in hand. He looks as if he’ll say something, but pauses at her expression.

“Lost in thought again?” he asks after a moment. “Thinking deep thoughts about the past and the great unknown future?”

“It’s like he can read my mind,” she deadpans.

“Well, stop it--just for now.” He brushes an invisible speck of dust off his hat. “I thought I would reacquaint myself with the city. Care to join?”

She touches the pearl bracelet on her wrist, an old habit she uses to center herself, and nods, picking up her coat from the rack. “Of course. Where do we start?”


End file.
